


Does it still hurt?

by Codango



Series: Sitting in the street [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Forehead Kisses, Hugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2324003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codango/pseuds/Codango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sousuke sighed. “You said something hurts? I know you said something hurts. Did you… fall?”</p><p>Makoto leaned his head back but kept his eyes closed. So swollen. So heavy. Don’t want to open them.  “Right off a cliff.”</p><p>Sousuke looked at him, and blew out a breath. “Tachibana, look, I’m not… good with this sort of thing. Are you physically in pain?”</p><p>Yes. Yes, my chest is splitting wide open, and I could honestly believe it is, just based on this feeling. “No.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does it still hurt?

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place right after S2 Ep11, so mild spoilers there. Poor Makoto needs some emotional holding, and dammit I'm going to see he has it. Kind of a continuation of "The coffee must be good here," but it's not necessary to read that to understand this.

He wasn’t certain how he got home that night.

The family was in bed — thank heaven — so Makoto didn’t have to put on his cheerful grin. He wasn’t certain he could fake it tonight, actually.

Makoto was a romantic. He didn’t question this about himself. But he was also fairly confident he’d never appreciated the word _heartbroken_ until about an hour ago.

He threw an arm over his eyes, falling onto his bed.

He’d never grabbed _anyone_ that roughly before. He’d never used his size to make someone stay when they didn’t want to. Well, keeping Haru from jumping into random bodies of water was different, but this... The memory of how he’d twisted Haru’s wrist made him gag.

Makoto sat up, half-certain that if he kept lying down the weight of his heart might crush through his ribs and fall out his back.

 _“You’re lying!”_ he’d shouted. Makoto grabbed at his chest and whimpered. _Shouted._ At Haru, of _all_ people. And _“You’re not fine!”_ and _“Why can’t you understand?”_

His whole face was wet and his eyes stung like mad, so he couldn’t really be sure whether or not he’d started crying again.

Oh god. And the _look_ on Haru’s face. _“Even you’re talking like this?”_ As though his last safe place was ripped out from under his feet.

Makoto bit the fleshy part of his thumb hard to keep from sobbing. He wouldn’t be able to stop, and it’d be loud, and the twins would wake up… He grabbed his jacket and keys and fled the house again as quietly as he could.

Makoto had always been safe. Being a place of comfort and safety to his friends was what he _was_. He stared at his hand while he walked — and suddenly he wasn’t anymore. Not to Haru — and Makoto choked.

He started to jog… if he didn’t have some purpose right now, he’d probably sit down on a random step until the sun rose.

But he hadn’t been able to stand Haru looking _so_ miserable. So lost. For days. That was worse than anything. And Makoto couldn’t _fix it_ this time _dammit ALL_. Not even telling his dear, dear friend what he surely already knew: _“We all love you!”_ Not even that… was enough for this.

Makoto filled his lungs to their deepest, running along the sea. The lanterns from the festival were mostly burnt out.

 _“All you ever do is MEDDLE with everyone!”_ Haru had yelled, and with so much anger. Makoto felt the shock run through him again, and his step faltered.

 _“Stop sticking your nose into everyone else’s business!”_ and Makoto fell to his knees.

He grabbed the neck of his T-shirt, brought it to his mouth to stifle his groans. He hadn’t meant to tell Haru he was leaving for Tokyo like _that_ , not in that moment, but it had… fallen out of his mouth, and the look on Haru’s face.

_“Do whatever you want!”_

Makoto’s heart had shattered. Shredded through him like something heavy and glass exploded inside his chest. The shards had melted in the heat gathering inside him and had pooled, hot, dense, and so _heavy_ below his lungs, and he didn’t know what else to do but cradle his hands against his chest.

He wasn’t sobbing in the middle of the street. By all outward signs, he was being sick. He dry heaved and couldn’t stop. Makoto got himself onto all fours, knew he should make himself stand and move on, but “It hurts,” he whimpered. “Ggg, ahhu, it… it _hurtsss_.”

“Makoto?!”

“Tachibana-senpai!”

He heard the sound of feet rushing toward him, but Makoto stared at the pavement under his hands. Too much emotion had fallen from him in a wave — you couldn’t pull it back, and you couldn’t _put_ it back even if you managed to gather it all up around you again.

“Tachibana-senpai, are you hurt?” The voice was young and frantic, and… _Nitori_? Makoto raised his head and looked blearily at the small, frightened young man kneeling in front of him.

“Nah, Nitori-senpai, he’s sick!” A hand fell roughly on his forehead. “Yup! He’s hot as an oven! What do we—”

“We shut up, Momo-kun.” A larger hand, and gentler, swept up Makoto’s bangs to rest on his forehead. It cupped his face, wiped a thumb against the saliva that had fallen from his sobbing mouth. Humiliated and still aching inside, Makoto felt new tears trace old tracks along his cheeks.

“Nitori-kun.” The voice was cool and authoritative, and Makoto knew it, which made this _so. Infinitely. Worse._

“Hai!”

“You’re in charge of Momo-kun for the rest of the night. Get him back to the dorms safely. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Makoto wiped his own hand against his mouth and glanced up in time to see Nitori swallow hard. “H-hai, Yamazaki-senpai! Momo-kun, we’re going to miss curfew. We should go.”

“Eh?” The red-haired ball of energy pouted. “But then Yamazaki-senpai is going to be late even worse!”

Yamazaki Sousuke, butterfly champion of the Samezuka Swimming Academy, crossed his arms. Green-blue eyes narrowed and regarded his much smaller kouhai. “Momo-kun.”

Nitori grabbed the redhead by the wrist and fairly took off with him. “We’ll see you at practice, Yamazaki-senpai! Please feel better, Tachibana-senpai!”

As their steps faded into the late night, Makoto thought about standing up. He did. It was right there on the back of his eyelids: _You should stand up._ But the effort of behaving normally was too taxing, and he sat there. Cross-legged. Head in his hands in the quiet street.

He felt settling next to him and peeked through his fingers. Sousuke sat there, not looking at him.

“Tachibana,” Sousuke began quietly. “Why do I always run across you sitting in the street?”

Makoto inhaled deeply through his nose. Last time, Sousuke had found him crouched on a sidewalk. Half an hour later, Makoto had kissed him. They hadn’t spoken since. _God, I do not need this right now._

Sousuke sighed. “You said something hurts? I know you said something hurts. Did you… fall?”

Makoto leaned his head back but kept his eyes closed. _So swollen. So heavy. Don’t want to open them._  “Right off a cliff.”

Sousuke looked at him, and blew out a breath. “Tachibana, look, I’m not… good with this sort of thing. Are you physically in pain?”

 _Yes. Yes, my chest is splitting wide open, and I could honestly believe it is, just based on this feeling._ “No.”

“You didn’t, I don’t know, twist an ankle or anything? Because you shouldn’t walk by yourself if you did.”

Makoto finally opened his eyes, looked out at the sea. The wind was getting up, stirring the waves. “Had a fight with Haru.” His voice sounded so dead. From highest crest of emotion to dullest pain.

Sousuke raised an eyebrow. “Nanase can fight?”

Makoto opened his mouth to respond. To quip, to make light, something. And a choke came out. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

The silence stretched on, and Makoto couldn’t dare to look at Sousuke.

And then… a rustle over his shoulder. It took a few seconds for Makoto to absorb that Sousuke had wrapped one very long arm around Makoto’s hunched shoulders. _Fuck! How can there be_ more _to cry?!_

“I’m guessing Nanase doesn’t fight like Rin does.”

Makoto tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a hiccup. “I’ve n-never fought… with either bef-before.”

Sousuke inhaled deeply, and Makoto was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the squeeze at his shoulder.

They sat like that for… Makoto had no idea how long, really. His thoughts were still tumbling through his brain in no organized way — _will Haru ever speak to me again? Am I still his friend? Does he want that anymore? What is Sousuke thinking? Wondering if I’m all there? If it’s safe to leave me alone yet?_

But he was calmer. The arm tight around his shoulders was strengthening and soothing at the same time. _I should really, really let him know he can go home._

“Y-you can join the others, you know, Sousuke,” Makoto said. “I should be getting home anyway. I left when no one was awake…”

“Mm,” Sousuke grunted. And stayed where he was.

After a few minutes, Makoto was debating whether to reiterate his offer or just get up himself ( _I can do this, I’ve got this_ ). But a slight pressure atop his head stopped all thoughts cold.

Sousuke pulled back from pressing a kiss into Makoto’s hair. Stood. “Yosh. Well, if you’re sure you’re all right.”

Makoto took his extended hand in shock. He let Sousuke pull him to his feet.

Sousuke regarded him thoughtfully, his hands in his jeans pockets. “Well. I’ll be going then.” But he simply stood there. Looking down at Makoto, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

And Makoto walked into his arms.

He rested his cheek on the taller boy’s shoulder and sighed. Everything still hurt, but he was upright again. He closed his eyes and let a few last tears gather and fall.

Sousuke hadn’t moved except to reciprocate the hug. His arms wrapped all the way around Makoto’s broad back. Strong. Solid. Quiet. Then the faintest whisper:

“Does it still hurt?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [@codango](http://codango.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr
> 
> [Marcella Christie](http://marcellachristie.com/) for my alter ego


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